Storms
by Oddly Inspired
Summary: There is a fatality in human nature that drives us to return to the place of any great event. So he stopped and turned, heading south. 'You've reached a new low, letting an old ghost catch up with you.'
1. Trouble

**Disclaimer:** Very simply, it's not mine.

**Notice:** I'm stuck on the second chapter. Like, really truly, deperately stuck. Help, please? My e-mail is My AIM, obivously, is the same. I would greatly appreciate it!

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"'I found a world where the elderly suck away the lives of their sons and daughters just so that they may prolong their own, clinging on desperately to the last of their pitiful wasted years; a world where the young heartlessly abandon their own ill parents to avoid turning into the monsters they have seen and feared and yet have already become themselves; where wives cheat on their husbands and husbands beat their wives while their babies lie forgotten and crying in the cold; where even children will murder other children for a bone stolen from a stray dog, and their mothers stand by and watch!'"  
-Shimizu Hitomi, "Flight of the Crane"

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He dipped his hands into the cool water, watching as the crystal clear liquid rinsed thick black mud from his shaking hands. He repeated the procedure until his hands were clean, and cupped more water, bringing it up to his face. When he felt he was clean, he sat back against a tree, vaguely noticing his hunger.

It was a feeling that he'd grown accustomed to, Hunger. He noticed with slight alarm that he could not remember the last time he'd eaten more than a few bites at a time. It wouldn't make much difference, he decided, in the long run, whether he had enough to eat now. He was familiarized with Hunger; the feeling almost gave him some sense of comfort. Content, he had no memory of, but Hunger had been there from the beginning, biting sharply at first, but its teeth growing duller by each passing day. After years of Hunger, it was hardly noticeable.

He knew he was not the only one. The town he had just passed was destitute, as most in Kanagawa were—very small and very poor. The people there had Hunger written plainly on their faces, gaunt faces watching him pass with envy. He had meat enough on his bones, for now. A small child had followed him as far as the gates of the town, and when he turned to face her, she fell to her knees, head bent, with arms outstretched and hands cupped. It was a pitiable sight—a beggar begging from another beggar—but it was something that seemed to be common there. He dug through his pockets and found scraps of hardtack, and gave them all to the girl. She looked up, eyes wide, and smiled at him. **At him.** Him, who had walked past so many of the same downtrodden people and killed so many others—he shut his eyes at the memory.

_No, not now. Not today, when things are going so well. _

He had made out of the town without any further incident, and had come to this stream to wash, to relax. His hands shook even harder as he watched them with slightly morbid fascination. Two years… they had done much to him. He was no longer the efficient killer he had been. He wondered distantly if he could even hold a sword now. Glancing once more at his trembling hands, his mind filled with doubt.

_What would they say now,_ he wondered, _if they saw what I've become, what would they say?_

He thought of them more often then he would like to admit. He thought of their mantras, continually playing scenes of life that he had since seen. He thought of the great battles he'd had with them, of their ougis, of their lives. And how did he compare? The only answer that he had so far come up with was that he didn't. How could he compare to them? They were great men, gods even. No, he did not, and could not, compare.

He was beginning to be afraid that maybe… **just maybe**… he never would.

He stood now, his knees creaking violently and threatening to buckle. He steadied himself with practiced movements that only mimicked his once impeccable grace and began walking slowly onwards. He wasn't sure where it was that he was going; he wasn't sure why he was going there. He didn't know if he should stop and turn around towards home, or at least where it had once been, and he didn't know if he should keep on in the direction that he was currently headed. Indecisiveness eventually making the decision for him, he kept on a straight path, headed gradually north.

Coming out of Kanagawa prefecture, he realized that he had passed his old home. He was gripped by a sudden, undeniable urge to go back. There is a fatality that inexorably compels human beings to remain or to return to the place of any great event—and, the more tragic the incident, the more a body wishes to remain at the site. So it was now, and he stopped and turned back, heading south again, back to Kanagawa, and back to that sickening shamble of a farm.

He wondered what it was like now, what had happened after his swift departure. He wondered if some other relatives of his had taken the farm, what the people had done with the bodies. The idea compelled him forward, and, for the first time in at least a year, he ran only two steps short, and arrived by nightfall.

"Seta!"

The voice was gruff and weathered, and he stopped consider who he knew that had a voice such as that. Shivering at the memory, he crouched closer to the ground. He couldn't see the man through the dark and the dense fog that had settled on the town. "Keta!" the man called again, "Get back here!"

There was something a warning in the man's tone now, the promise of a reprimand. It was a verbal inflection with which he was more than well acquainted. Still, he did not approach the man; rather, he seemed to be locked in his position—almost as if it were another time, not so long ago.

Then, in one fatal move, he stepped forward. He could see the man now, by the lantern light in the man's hand. He could also just make out the form of a young boy, tottering towards the light, dragging an old, rusted sword behind him. "Keta! What if the police had seen you with that! What would you do then? Huh?"

The boy did not answer, only laid the sword down at the man's feet and backed hurriedly away, bowing all the while. He crept closer, looking carefully at the man. His eyes widened at the scar on the man's face… a horrific scar trailing diagonally from the hairline to the chin, down one eye and across the obviously broken nose. He froze once more, dazed. _It couldn't be._

No, no, no. It wasn't possible, by any stretch of the imagination.

Coming swiftly to his senses as the man looked towards him, he ran. The man gave chase, huffing in the effort to keep up. He did not stop, did not turn around, and did not acknowledge his pursuer. He did not think of using any semblance of real speed—just the two-steps short that he had run today had been enough to drain him, and he had long since learned not to overdo it.

Fatigue forced him to stop. _Dammit_. He could not help but to recall a time (how could it be only two years ago?) when a brisk jog constituted a speed of fifteen miles an hour, and all out run like he had just undertaken could reach twenty-five for a full two hours without exhausting him. But he was sweating now, and nauseous and cramped. The man found him just one minute later, slumped against a wall and breathing hard. He raked his memory, searching for a time when someone—**anyone**—had caught up to him so quickly. Searching for a time when anyone had caught up with him **at all**.

_Shit,_ he swore. _You've reached a new low, you have. Letting an old ghost catch up with you, never mind that he limps. What have you become?_

_**Worthless.**_

He coughed and pulled himself up, one hand against the wall for balance. He observed with growing alarm the tremors in his legs and the shaking of his hands. He smiled genially at his follower. "Well?" He rasped. It had been so long since he had used his voice. "What are you going to do?"

The man watched him, scrutinizing him carefully, cautiously. What was he to do now with this strange young man? He continued watching as the emaciated figure before him slid softly back down the wall, collapsing in a heap in the dirt. He watched with interest as the young man picked himself up once more, only to have his knees, which shook tremendously at each effort, give out and cause him to slide to the ground again. He watched the entire exhibit of wretchedness developing in front of him, and watched the pitiable creature lift his head up and smile beatifically.

And the aging, disfigured man could only think to ask one question among so many.

"**Who are you**?"

And the young, starving man before him coughed blood into his trembling hands and smiled ever wider, avoided eye contact and answered him simply and directly, just as the older man suspected that he would.

"Tenken no Soujiro."

* * *

He woke up in a room—one with a roof and all four walls—for the first time in his recent memory. As alien as his current situation was, the room was startlingly familiar. The walls were plain and nondescript, with no artwork and no color, and the floors were simply made tatami mats. The futon was also plain, and he vaguely wondered if the boring décor wasn't meant to drive away visitors.

Still, there was something familiar about the place, something that pushed him to dress hastily before wandering out into the hall, even though it was barely dawn.

Unwilling to wake anyone, he sat balanced against the wall outside of _that_ room. And he shuddered, and he began to wonder. He had picked up a dreadful habit of thinking too much during his wanderings. At scarcely twenty years old, he could think back to times of killing people, of saving people. Of fighting, of losing, of winning, of coming to standstills. Of revolution, of peace, of war, and of quiet.

But most of all, he could recall times of Troubles. Trouble seemed the one widespread theme, for everyone. Children, adolescents, adults, men, women, seniors—they were all Troubled. He could recall the Troubles of one village in particular, much like this one. Maybe it was this one. It was a place where Hunger was so prevalent, children—toddlers, it seemed, just past infancy—could kill for the smallest scrap of food. Where Trouble led to the deaths of the young people—just kids themselves, only his age—because they all belonged to gangs and yakuza factions and killed women and children and elders and husbands and fathers.

And for what? For _food_.

He had long ago decided that if you didn't adapt to Hunger, then Hunger would force you to be evil. Hunger, he thought, was the evilest demon. He had seen, in his short time on Earth, good men and good women who would kill other good men and other good women because of the influence of Hunger. He had seen lords overthrown because their people had no food, and their lords and ladies were walking through the fields, fat as could be, distastefully eying the scarecrows who worked for them. He had heard in passing conversations of the numerous revolts in Europe, and it seemed to be for the same reasons.

He had to admit though, that the Meiji government was trying to at least ease the Troubles of the people. He could sense the rapid development and change happening all around him, especially in the big cities. He had seen the guns of the new army and the western uniforms. The new western fashions found on the elite had not escaped him. He had, himself, long sported a western styled shirt, collared and buttoned. It had been a gift from Yumi-san, just five years ago.

It seemed like a lifetime.

He had been with ShiShio-san for such a long time. He had been rescued here—rescued from the very spot where he now willingly stood—as a mere child, only eight or nine years old. He was eighteen when his life fell apart; he had still been a child then, too. But now, at only twenty, he felt the weight of an entire lifetime crushing him down, forcing him to his knees as the heaviness bore down even harder with every passing second. As he sunk to the ground, he looked up and met the eyes of his host.

It was such a familiar scene—him on the ground, and the man above him, looking down disdainfully, sword ever-present. Almost as if just for old times' sake, he let a smile stretch over his fine features, and watched a frown appear in the older man's brow.

"Well. Where is your sword, Seta-san?"

"It is illegal to carry a sword, as it has been for many years now."

He stood now, mildly surprised that he was eye-level with the man now. It was empowering, in some strange way—that he would be equal with the man that continually overpowered him, years ago. The man who continued to overpower him after his departure—somehow, the man had lived through the stormy night. He speculated hazily as to when the law became important to this man, but the thought was dismissed as he addressed the matter now at hand.

"Thank you, Seta-san, for allowing me a place to stay for the night. I will not impose any further on your generous hospitality," he said. It was bait. The words had been dripping with sarcasm, an inflection not lost on the older man. But the man kept quiet, silently glowering at the thinly veiled insult. The younger of the two, meanwhile, smiled affably and began walking away.

At the gate, he stopped suddenly and turned around. "Seta-san, I hope that you will not mind my asking, after you have been so kind, demo…" He rested a hand on his sword hilt, more habitually than for any real purpose. "How did you manage to live? I know that I was a small child at the time, and it was only a wakizashi, but… you are the only one, are you not?"

"I am."

"How…?"

The man only shook his head. "Great fortune."

His smile grew a little dimmer. "Ah. Ara… I don't understand." He paused and considered his next words carefully before speaking again, "There is a lot to be said for karma, I suppose. Mine could be considered a great deal worse than yours, although, at the time…" He trailed off, shaking his head, and the older man wondered what had happened the boy in the past years since he had seen him. "Arigatou domo, Seta-san, for your great kindness to this meager rurouni."

As he watched the boy walk out the gate, he was struck with a sudden and great amount of remorse and shame, so much so that he called out with a gruff, raspy voice the name that had been a curse to his lips for so many years. "Soujiro!"

And now he watched as the boy—no, the young man, now—turned around and walked slowly back into the courtyard. And, not for the first time since the younger man's sudden return to his life, he wondered what to say. And all that came out when he forced his mouth open, more for fear of looking the idiot than any great show of rhetoric, was the one word that made sense to say to the underfed wanderer. "Eat."

Eat. And with that, his eyes widened a little. For once, his well-learned politesse failed to provide him a mannered response. He wasn't sure what to say—it was so strange to hear that command coming from anyone, but especially from _him_—that he wasn't positive he should even accept the offer. Eat. The thought of food, _good_ food, not month-old hardtack, made his stomach growl and his mouth water, and his eyes glazed over. Not completely certain that he had even heard aright, he tilted his head and furrowed his brow as he thought. "Eat, Seta-san? Your food?"

"Yes. It would be wrong to send you away hungry. You are thin, anyway, so it will do you good. My maid will make you something. Come with me."

He followed obediently, having long learned to never decline an offer of a full meal (or of any sort of sustenance, for that matter), and allowed a laugh to bubble up to his lips. "Seta-san, it seems that you have done well since then. A maid of your own? For just you, then? You do not have a pretty new wife?"

The question was unnecessary, and asked only as a bit of cruelty in the name of revenge. He knew the answer very well, and he knew the reason. He also knew that the blame would fall—quite correctly—on him. The killings and the subsequent scarring on the man's body were his. He knew he had greatly shamed the once respected family and destroyed their business. Of course, it hadn't seemed to matter much, then, because no one was estimated to be living at the time of his final departure. But still, here was this man, alive and in reasonably sound health, continually mocking him. Not only by the sheer fact of his animation, but by refusing to answer the question, however low a dig it might have been.

He was served a plain meal of rice and a small portion of fish, but it was well-prepared, and filled him enough. The feeling of Content was foreign, but welcome. He thanked the maid and unhurriedly walked into the courtyard.

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**Final notes:** _Reviews make me happy!_ And, I implore you all to read the begininng note... I really would love someone to bounce around ideas with, and I'll credit you wherever credit is due :  
Plus, I'm very nice, I promise! 


	2. Freedom

This chapter is much shorter than the last, and it took forever. For that, I apologize. However, it did manage to accomplish more or less everything that I needed/wanted it to, though it may seem a bit rushed at the end because I wanted to hurry up and get it uploaded.

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine.

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"Seta! How many times have I told you?" 

The child bowed deeply and ran back to the warehouse. Returning a minute later, barrel of rice on his back and depositing it in front of the aging man, the boy went quickly back to the warehouse, and brought another barrel out.

"This one is even less dependable than you were, and you were quite unreliable."

"Oh? How so, Seta-san?"

"He is stronger than you were, at his age, but he cannot seem to tie knots. I can't figure that out. It's not difficult, is it?"

He looked down at the barrels that the younger Seta had put down before them, and saw it was quite true. The knots that held the barrels closed were hopelessly mangled, and, therefore, easy to break into. "Seta-san, have you ever taught him how?"

The older man nodded, replying that yes, he had, at least a thousand times now.

"So, show him again, until he understands it. No, I'll do it. Consider it a thank you of sorts, for letting me stay and eat." Without waiting for a reply, he walked into the warehouse, bringing out more barrels. When they had all been bought out, he began to untie the knots. They came undone easily, and he ushered the boy over to him. "Now look, there's nothing terribly hard about this part. You just loop it a few times—like this."

The boy watched attentively, but when he tried to follow and tie one of his own, jumbled it hopelessly. "Not so good with your hands, then, eh? That's all right, neither was I, for a long time. Look. Like this." After a while, the older man left, satisfied enough that the boy would learn. The wanderer, he knew, was flaky, but would always finish the work, even if it took him days.

"Seta?" The young boy looked up, as if afraid of a reprimand. "No, no. Just… pardon my being so forward, demo… where did you come from?"

The boy stuttered for a bit, but eventually found his voice. "From here. My mother was a geisha… not the kind that live in Gion, but… _you_ know. My father, I'm not sure… I was raised by my aunt, because my mother died in childbirth. But, then she died too, and I was sent here, to live with her brother."

"Ah. So was I. Well, my father was a poor samurai, and my mother was the same sort of geisha. She died, and so did he, and I was sent here."

"Did you work, too?" He had to give the child credit, he was bold. It may not have been such a positive attribute, considering the circumstances, but he admired the boy for it nonetheless.

"Yes, but I think more than you." Unwilling to say anymore, he finished the last of the barrels as the child watched, astonished.

"Even more than me?"

He nodded. The skeptical look on the boy's small face, however, did not fade. And he was struck with a sudden idea. Maybe it would work. Maybe it would even help him. If he could do this, then maybe he…maybe he could finally be free.

Maybe he would be** that much closer** to being free.

He went through the remainder of his day mechanically, performing various chores and taking his meals in a daze. **_Freedom_**. The thought weighted heavily on his mind as he lay down to sleep. He found the barren room, with its plain ceiling and its austere walls and its simple flooring, to be obliging towards provoking thought. There were no distractions there, and thought tumbled blindly through his mind, loose fragments of words and phrases and memories, all pulling him towards one painful and inevitable realization.

**He had to**

It was the only way to find out, that much he knew. And so, in the darkest hour of the night, He sat up with an audible gasp, and threw the blankets off of him, into the corner of the room._ No, that won't do._ He stopped just before opening the shoji and turned to fold up the bedding, placing it neatly in the center of the room, just as he had done so many times, so many years ago.

He could hear the old man screaming, but in a dream. That night, it would seem, haunted more than just him. Still, he couldn't help but think that the older man fully deserved any pain he'd suffered through. There are some things that one simply does not do. Especially to family. Especially to brothers. Especially to children.

He did not stop; instead, he tuned out the older man's screams and continued down the hallway, into the courtyard, past the gate, and into the warehouse. And there.

Curled into the fetal position, backed as far into the corner as possible, and behind several barrels of rice, was the boy. It was exhilarating, the thought of his approaching action. He walked resolutely up to the boy, not smiling now, but his brows furrowed and a small frown on his face. The expression felt so strange to him, so foreign that he almost stopped. But he caught himself, and gently shook the boy awake, helping him to his feet and instructing him to keep quiet. "We're going to leave."

The boy merely nodded, not saying a word. He followed along quietly, out of the farm compound, through the streets of the sleeping village, and out of the town gates. Finally the boy stopped, losing sight of his liberator in the dark. He tried for several moments to speak, finally croaking out "Where are we going?"

He turned around to face the child, stepping forward so that the boy could see him. "I don't know. Away from here. Anywhere is better than here, don't you think? You can still go back, if you want. If you hurry, you'll be back before it gets to be morning."

"No. I don't want to stay there anymore. I guess you're right… it doesn't really matter where we go, after all. But, I'd still like to know, I think."

He laughed, and nodded. "Yes, yes. It would be nice to at least pick some sort of destination, I guess. All right, I'll tell you what," he squatted down in front of the child, "You pick. Anywhere you want to go. Except maybe Kyoto. We can go to Osaka, Nagasaki, Tokyo; we can even go up to Sapporo, if you want."

"There! That's where I want to go!"

"To Sapporo? Ara… well, that's a little far, demo…"

"No, I want to go to Tokyo."

He thought for a long moment, and stood, looking towards the north. To the east, the sun was rising, casting an almost eerie orange glow around them. "Aa. We can go to Tokyo."

The boy nodded, a wide smile gracing his features. "I've always wanted to visit the capital."

He bit back a sardonic laugh. To him, the capital was still in Kyoto, with the emperor and the shogun. But to this boy, it had always been Tokyo, with the Meiji bureaucracy. Was he that old already? He was only twenty, but then again… he had lived a lot—**he had lived too much**—in his twenty short years. "Tokyo it is, then. By the way," he began walking, ushering the boy on with him, "what is your name?"

"I'm Seta Kozue. And you? Who exactly are you?

"Me? Oh, I'm no one important. Just a poor wanderer."

"But how did you know my uncle? You said you were sent to live here after your parents died. You never said why."

He laughed again. Yes, the boy really was bold. "Well, Kozue-kun, it's a long story… maybe you'll get to here the whole thing one day, hm? But for know, just to keep you happy, I can tell you that old Seta-san is my brother."

"And he made you work for him? It makes sense for me to work, because I'm only his nephew, but if you're his brother than why didn't you…" Kozue trailed off uncertainly. "I'm sorry," he bowed. "I'm nosy, I know."

"I'm Seta Soujiro, by the way."

The boy nodded. "I've heard of you then. Seta-san screams in his sleep, sometimes. Always yelling about Soujiro. What'd you do, Soujiro-san?"

He didn't look at the boy as he answered, a bit cagily, "You know that big scar of his?"

"Yes..."

"That."

The boy looked at the ground and watched his words and behavior a little more closely the remainder of the journey.

* * *

Tokyo was a beautiful city. The tiled roofs all gleamed in the light of the rising sun, and all the wooden buildings seemed to burning in the fiery red and orange glow. Lanterns were still lit, casting spots of bright light around them. The colored awnings of the booths and shops throughout the marketplace shone brilliantly, and he found himself stopping to admire the picturesque quality of the scene. 

Yes, Tokyo was a beautiful city. He tried to picture the donjon of Edo Castle as it had once been, rising high above the capitol and dwarfing even mountains. _It would have been beautiful_, he mused. _It would have been visible for miles-- beautiful, magnificent, and, above all, intimidating._ A show of absolute power and strength to remind the weak that it is the strong who will ultimately prevail. No where else had he seen his maxim so perfectly represented. Yes, Tokyo was, indeed, a very beautiful city.

It was quiet, but within the hour, he knew, the port would come alive, the temples and market soon after. He could understand why Himura would choose a place like this to finally settle. It was peaceful and traditional, but progress could be seen everywhere. There were gas lamps, and even some electric ones, spread sporadically along the streets. Modern office buildings and restaurants lined the road, set above the long-established family shops. "Can we stop somewhere to sleep? Somewhere with walls and floors? And cozy futons? Somewhere warm and dry? You know, like, somewhere _not_ outdoors."

He laughed. Yes, he had found in the week of travel that his young companion was indeed quite bold, and just slightly loquacious. He really quite enjoyed the constant chatter though; it kept his mind sufficiently occupied.

He found that since Kozue had joined him, he didn't think so much. He was finally distracted from his wonderings on how his life had changed, on his old teacher, on his failures. It was nice, but he had a nagging feeling that it was probably not the best thing for his current moral dilemma. It seemed to him that when one has a bad taste in one's mouth, it should be spit out, not just continually swallowed back again.

* * *

**  
A Note of Clarification:** A few of you have asked me about the old man. This chapter may have cleared it up, but if not, then the older Seta-san is one of Soujiro's brothers--the big one who always carried around his sword. I've twisted the RK storyline a good bit here, but it's fairly reasonable to assume that a man of his size (and, evidently, strength) could survive an attack from an eight year old with no sword skills to speak of and a wakizashi. 

**A Note of Thanks:** I'd like to thank _chibi-tenken, willofone792, evee-chan_, and_ karasu25_ for their help! And also, _conspirator_ and _skenshengumi_ for their encouragement!  
I would like to add here that I love reveiws, and that they make me feel guilty for not updating. Therefore, reveiws lead to updates :


	3. Confrontation

Bonjour mon amis!  
Here's chapter three for you all!

* * *

"But it can change, Soujiro-kun! People can change! Their lives can turn them into someone much better! Is that not what you've found?"

How had it come to this? How had such a simple conversation turned into something like this? It had been peaceful and quiet, and suddenly he was drawing his broken—but still very sharp—sword and yelling at the top his lungs and Himura had stood and was staring him and was being reasonable and **talking**.

He **always** had to talk, didn't he? Soujiro couldn't claim to understand this phenomenon. He did understand that, as a swordsman, polite (but mocking) banter between passes was quite all right and even a little fun, but he did not understand Himura's ceaseless chatter. He speculated, though, that it was this nonstop talk that had kept Himura alive all these years.

_It was what kept him alive while fighting with the Tenken, after all. _

He had only been in Tokyo for a week when they'd met in the market place, Soujiro hoping to find cheap food and Himura doing the same. They'd reached for the same radish, and that was how they'd realized the potential threat to their respective livelihoods. The next thing Soujiro knew, he was at the Kamiya girl's dojo and he was screaming and Himura was speaking in a low voice and—

"**NO**, Himura-san! YOU'RE WRONG. **NO, NO, NO!** THAT'S NOT RIGHT AT ALL! You speak of things, Himura-san, that, deep down, you know you know nothing about! You want to know what I found, Himura-san? You want to know what I've seen that will make me believe in the **good** of humanity? Nothing. **NOTHING AT ALL!** No, instead, I found a world where children will murder other children for the smallest scraps of food stolen from stray dogs and trash heaps while their 'gentle' mothers will stand by and watch; a world where the young abandon their ailing and dying parents for the sake of saving just a little money!

"I FOUND A WORLD WHERE BEGGARS WILL BEG FROM OTHER BEGGARS ONLY TO TURN AROUND AND FIND THAT ANYTHING THEY OWNED HAS BEEN STOLEN BY THEIVES! A world where new gangs are formed everyday and those who have sworn to uphold the law and the country are incompetent and corrupt and living in luxury while the people that they are under oath to protect and serve are starving and living in squalor! **That** is what I have found, Himura-san. THAT IS THE INEVITABLE TRUTH THAT I HAVE COME TO AFTER JUST TWO YEARS!"

His breathing was ragged and his throat was raw. He couldn't help but to be reminded of a time so similar, not really so very long ago. He dropped his voice to a harsh, raw whisper. "How you can stand to believe that people can change… that people can protect each other… that the strong can really protect the weak—I can't understand you, Himura-san. No matter what, I've found it to be true that the strong feed off the weak. Maybe not directly, Himura-san, but oh… they do, regardless.

"They do not go out of their way to kill the weak, but they do not go out of their way to protect them, either. No, they ignore them. And the weak never think to work together—they compete with each other. And that's the truth that I've found.

"People will inevitably do whatever they want. They are inherently good—you and I both can testament to that, even I was good once—but the world will ultimately make them to become either devils or saints. There is no driving force, no motivation to be good, but there is great motivation to be evil. Even you, Himura-san, have to recognize the validity of that."

He took a wary step back as Himura stepped forward, still not drawing his sword.

_He hasn't even got a sword…_

Soujiro paused at this realization. "Wha… where is your sakabatou?"

Himura motioned towards the dojo house. "Inside. I didn't believe it to be necessary—I was only going to pick up some radishes, de gozaru yo. But I have no intent of retrieving it, Soujiro-kun, if that is your wish. I do not want to fight you."

"Why not, Himura-san? Why must you always be so frustratingly reasonable? Why can't you ever just fight! AND WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO TALK?" He took a deep breath. "I'd have beaten you, Himura-san. I'd have killed you, and that would have been it. It isn't fair! You should be **dead**! My brother should be dead! And instead, you're both still alive and relatively well and I just can't TAKE IT ANYMORE! Why, Himura? Why couldn't I kill you? Why couldn't I kill my brother? And why, of all things, would you both still be alive, when ShiShio-san and Yumi-san are dead?

It's not fair, godammit! It's not fair, and I… I just..." He squeezed his eyes shut, tight as he could, and tightened his grip on the handle of his precious katana. "And why did you have to break my fucking sword? It was a Kikiuchi-Monji Norimune… this sword was **art**, Himura. Pure art. And you just went and cleaved into… well, lots of not-so-valuable pieces."

It was not lost on Kenshin that the customary honorific had been dropped from his name. And while he fully understood Soujiro's anger, he wondered what he meant about his brother. He wasn't, however, dim-witted enough to actually ask. Instead he watched silently as the younger man, once again, broke. It was painful to see—this child, really, who had so much talent, and so much potential—had broken twice now, both times caused by him, no matter how careful he tried to be around him. And it hurt even more, because it struck a little close to home.

Soujiro continued to glare at him, shaking now. His ragged breathing turned to coughs, and Kenshin watched as Soujiro wiped his mouth clean. He continued to watch, not breathing a word, as Soujiro doubled over from coughing, grasping the wall to balance himself. He watched as the young man slid to the dirt, finally over the fit, and began to laugh.

Kenshin halted—how could Soujiro laugh when there was blood on his hands and the corners of his mouth and he was shaking so hard that he couldn't even stand? "Soujiro-kun," he began, "there is no way that I could ever know what has happened to you during the past two years… neither do I know what happened to you as a child, but… you're still so young, Soujiro-kun. You have so much time left to make things better for yourself…" He felt himself blanch a little as Soujiro's gaze fell on him. Was he afraid now, of the broken boy before him? He had not been afraid while fighting him, but… now… "Soujiro-kun, if I may… If I may ask, what do you mean when you talk about your brother?"

Soujiro laughed again, and Kenshin winced at the hollow sound. Even when he had been the Tenken, the hollow laugh had always had a touch of mirth and amicability along with it. Soujiro had always been painstakingly polite and affable to him, as Kenshin suspected he was to everyone—after all, they had been enemies, and the Tenken had been trying to kill him.

But now that the smile had been dropped, replaced by a hard glare, Kenshin could see that the boy before him and the Tenken that he'd once met were not at all the same person. No, the young man in front of him now was the same young man that he'd fought after the collapse of the Tenken. This was simply Seta Soujiro, a young man so full of potential, but a young man so frightfully scarred by his short life that he no longer had it in him to even attempt a real smile.

"My… my brother, Himura? You want to know… No, Himura. It's over with. I didn't kill him anyway." Sure, the same couldn't be said for all his cousins, but then, he'd never really been one for details, anyway. "And so what? Why's that matter, in the end? So what if his living is like a mockery to me… So what if _your_ living is like a mockery to me? I'm not going to kill him. And I'm not going to kill you. In fact," He picked himself up off the ground, unsteadily straightening and dusting his clothing. "In fact, I'd like nothing more now than to retire back to the inn. Kozue-kun is probably getting bored waiting for me."

He smiled, and quietly walked past Kenshin, who was trying very hard not to gape. "I apologize, Himura-kun. Tell Sagara-san that I said hello, I suppose. And send my best regards to your woman, ne?"

And with that, he walked through the gate, shutting it gently.

"Kenshin? Who… who was that?"

"Kaoru-dono… Ah, it was only a young man who was lost and in great need of direction."

* * *

"I'm sorry that it took me so long, Kozue-kun," He sang out, dutifully steeping out of his shoes. "I'm afraid that I ran into some trouble on the way back from the market."

"Trouble?"

Soujiro thought quickly. He tried not to lie, normally, but he'd been quickly learning that there were exceptions to very nearly every rule. "Oh… It, well, it wasn't anything, really. Just an over-zealous policeman. Going on about the sword ban and how 'it is illegal to carry a sword of any kind in public' and all that, you know. But I showed him that it was broken and he let me off with just a small fine!" He chirped.

"Oh… well, what's for dinner, then, eh, Soujiro-san?"

* * *

He watched with scarcely hidden fascination as the marketplace came alive before him. A little behind him, he heard Kozue gasp in wonder. Tokyo was (and forever had been, at least to his knowledge) always a beautiful city, but it seemed to really come alive after a storm.

The night before, just after he'd left the dojo and arrived back at the inn, there had been a ferocious squall blowing in unexpectedly and leaving in much the same manner. The clouds were still out, brilliantly reflecting the sunrise. The brighter-than-usual glow did wonders to all the colorful fabrics that donned the awnings of buildings, and made each person's face a little more lively, bathing everything in its path in light.

Soujiro tried, but could make no connection to his current predicament. He supposed that there were others (who were wiser than he) that could set up a clever analogy—the sunlight was a sign of sorts, that everything is even better after the storm.

He had never been one to stand on ceremonies. (1)

"Soujiro-san! Can we eat here, please? I wanna try a beef pot! Pleeeaaase Soujiro-san, please can we eat here, _please_?"

Soujiro felt his ever-present grin widen at his young companion's wheedling. "Well, I don't know, Kozue-kun…"

"Why not? I _said_ **please**!"

"Aa, you did."

"I called you -san!"

"Aa, yes, Kozue-kun, you did, but…"

"SO WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?!"

Soujiro laughed under his breath. "We're, you know, broke. Poor. Moneyless."

"And…? So?"

"Ara… Kozue-kun… you have to pay for food, you know."

It didn't appear as though the thought had ever occurred to the youngster; his eyes widened in disbelief as he expelled his thoughts—"No way…!"

"Yes way! It's true! I swear it!" He told him, as Kozue continued to be amazed. He was coming to the realization that the kid had been good for him, in some aspects. Kozue, by sheer virtue of the fact that he was, indeed, a child, had unknowingly helped Soujiro to accept his own lost childhood. He had come to terms, back in Kanagawa, with the notion that he had to grow up. He would never really be a child again, youthful face and deceptively innocent pseudo-smiles be damned. He'd survived through far too many Troubles for that to happen.

But that was no reason why…

That was no reason to for Kozue to have to grow up knowing Hunger like he had.

No, Kozue would not miss out on his childhood.

Soujiro would make sure of it.

"Eh… Kozue-kun… I have some money left. Here, let's go get some beef pots. I'm starved!"

* * *

(1) Any literature buffs who know what that quote is adpated from? Props to anyone who guesses it :) 

In other news... As a little supplement to Sou's characterization in this story, I'd recommend you check out chapter seven of **Meditate**.  
Besides that, I'm assuming you've all read Anithene's lovely **What Came After**... We should all praise it, really. I'm in awe.

Thank you all for your patience, as always, _and the kind reviews!!_


	4. Disease

Here it is! The long-awaited chapter four!  
I apologise again for the long wait... thank you all for being so patient!

* * *

"HEY!"

He nudged Kozue pointedly towards a booth, taking care to keep his head down. Had he known that the kid would be here, he'd have never consented to eating here, no matter what Kozue wanted. He should have checked first, should have expected something like this to happen. Tokyo was full of Himura's friends. How could he have been so stupid as to think he wouldn't run into one before he left?

"What are you yelling about now, Yahiko-chan?

Soujiro bit back a smile at the younger man's grimace at being referred to like a child and hid behind a menu. Yahiko, for his part, decided to disregard the suffix and concentrated instead on Soujiro.

"Do you remember when we all came back from Tokyo, and Kenshin looked like he'd just come back from the dead?"

"Well, yes, but Yahiko-chan, there is really no reason to go and cause a ruckus like this in my restaurant…"

Yahiko rolled his eyes and stalked up to the booth where Soujiro and Kozue sat, Soujiro looking rather absorbed in his menu and Kozue watching the events curiously. "Sou-kun, what is the crazy guy talking about?"

Yahiko looked at the boy and scoffed. "Me? Crazy? I'm not crazy! **He's** the crazy one!" He pointed at Soujiro and ripped the menu out of his hands, leaving Soujiro no choice but to face him.

He smiled sheepishly at the seething young man standing tall above him, and realized that there was nothing at all he could do to defend himself. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and said "My, you've gotten quite tall these past three years!" He felt himself being dragged up out of his seat, and his smile widened. "Ah, come on now, you don't want to scare away all the customers, do you? All we wanted were some beef pots…"

Tae, recovering herself admirably at hearing this, marched up to Yahiko and grabbed one of his ears, yanking hard. "You put this poor man down right now, you stupid boy."

"But Tae…" She pulled again, hard, not letting go until Yahiko reluctantly lowered Soujiro back to his feet. "Tae, this is the guy who—"

"I don't care! He is still a paying customer! Now you go back in the kitchen and help Tsubame with the dishes!" She glared at his back as he shuffled into the kitchen, grumbling under his breath. Satisfied that he wouldn't be coming back, she turned to Soujiro with a beatific smile. "I'm very sorry about that, sir. He sometimes lets his temper get the best of him, I'm afraid. I'll have your beef pots right out!"

* * *

_It's delicious_, he thought, slurping up the hot stew gratefully. "How do you like it Kozue-kun?" He could vaguely make out the boy's nod from behind his bowl, and smiled.

He bent over his bowl, but immediately straightened up, turning towards the door.

"Excuse me; we've had some complaints about a disruption here?"

Soujiro ducked his head as the man walked in, cigarette dangling haphazardly from tightly pursed lips, posture erect and proud. He had never had a chance to fight him during Shishio's Kuni Tori, but he had been to Usui's chamber after the fight, and was awestruck at the gruesome effect of the Gatotsu. He wondered how he would fare against it—he knew that even Himura had never managed to defeat the man. Still, Saitou had never defeated Himura, either… and he _had_ done that.

Though he was confident that he could have been a more than adequate match for the infamous Wolf of Mibu, he understood that he didn't stand a chance now. His hand trembled as he returned to his meal.

"Oh, it's all been taken care of, Officer. Thank you, though. It was just that Yahiko…"

"Hn," Saitou made his way to the kitchen, a wide smirk finding its way to his face. "I should have figured that the brat had something to do with it, when I found out it was this place. Hey kid—"

"Don't call me that, you jerk!" Yahiko threw down his dishtowel and scowled meaningfully at the cop, who had taken to leaning in the doorway.

Saitou ground out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and smirked again. "Yeah, sure. Care to tell me what you were causing a disruption for? A very **nice** old lady stopped me on my way to lunch and informed me that I should check it out. I'm hungry, and I want answers from you. **Now**, so that I can still get lunch before I'm due back at the station."

Yahiko grumbled under his breath before waving his hand in the direction of Soujiro and Kozue's booth. Kozue watched the interaction with thinly veiled fascination from behind his bowl in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner, Soujiro kept his head bowed and his eyes downcast, not daring to look at the policeman. He could feel Saitou's gaze stop on him, could feel the intense scrutiny he was under. He continued eating his beef pot, trying hard to ignore the Miburo.

He couldn't get arrested, not now, because then who would look after Kozue? They would send him back to his brother's house… there was no way—**no way**—that he could let that happen. He had sworn to protect the boy from anything that would rob him of his childhood, of anything that would hurt him like that. Kozue was weak, maybe, but he was just a kid. He wouldn't need protecting forever—Soujiro could tell that Kozue was of strong character, and would probably be quite physically strong when he grew up—but he needed it now, and Soujiro figured he had to start trying this "protecting the weak" thing somewhere.

He tensed as Saitou began walking over to him, and he found that he could do nothing but sit watch his hands tremble. _Funny_, he thought, _that_ _they would be doing that again today_. They hadn't done that in the past week, or at least not since he'd had Kozue with him, and he figured that it was probably because he had been making sure that they had something to eat everyday. "Tenken."

He could feel the familiar discomfort surge through his lungs and up to his throat, where he made a valiant effort to swallow it. He gagged a little from the effort and hiccupped. He didn't dare take a deep breath, keeping breathing shallow as possible, as unsatisfying as it was. He hiccupped again from the effort, focusing on his lap, on his shaking hands that were now clenched into tight fists, on anything but the policeman who was glaring down at him, on anything but the tight sensation in his lungs and throat.

Finally he found that he couldn't hold it back any longer, and he bent over slightly as he coughed into his hands. He could feel himself shaking, could feel the bile beginning to make its way up his esophagus. He stood and faced the Wolf, trying at a smile that wouldn't come, trying not to notice the slightly puzzled, slightly concerned glare.

He couldn't stop coughing no matter how hard he tried, every breath he took burned his lungs. He doubled over, hands on his knees, looking at the spinning ground, vying desperately for some amount of control. Finally, mercifully, it subsided. He straightened up, grimaced, and spat blood into his hands, promptly wiping them on his dark blue monpei.

"I'm sorry, Saitou-san. But I really can't afford to be arrested right now. I'm not finished wandering yet, and besides, I can't let Kozue-kun get sent back to my brother's farm. At the end of ten years, if you still want me, I'll be more than happy to turn myself in."

* * *

He woke up later in the dark, the only light slanting in through a window with half-closed shutters. It created a series of broad diagonal lines on the polished wood floor, showing an occasional scuff mark from dark shoe soles and several ground out cigarettes lying near small piles of ash. Soujiro could smell the smoke, still fresh in the air.

He turned as the door opened, and in walked a disgruntled Saitou. Soujiro watched as he quickly pulled out a small box from his jacket's inner pocket, striking a match and then bringing it to the cigarette already hanging from his mouth. He took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, deliberately.

"Well."

Soujiro continued to watch the cop as he walked to the large desk in the middle of the room and shuffled some papers around. "Well. I assume you've figured out by now where you are? Or are you truly as stupid as that smile you hide behind?"

Soujiro shifted uncomfortably under the Wolf's penetrating gaze, but managed to find his voice (and courage) enough to ask how he come to be in Saitou's office. Saitou, instead of answering, turned back to his desk to rifle through more papers. When he had gone through all of them, he turned to the pens and pencils, arranging them all obsessively. When there was nothing left to be done there, he opened a drawer and began to organize it.

Soujiro bit back a snort at the cop's behavior. He had heard of how some killers would develop ridiculous habits of cleanliness and order—hell, he'd developed a few obsessive-compulsive disorders of his own while he worked for Shishio—it seemed that the Miburo took it to a whole new level. He watched as Saitou started on a second drawer, and when that one was satisfactory, a third.

When Saitou finally ran out of drawers, he looked to the filing cabinet and sighed, knowing there was nothing to be done there. Finally, he returned his gaze to the young man who was watching him from across the desk, in the chair kept for the very few visitors that came into the station to see him. "What?"

"Oh… nothing, Saitou-san. It's just, you seem rather intent on avoiding my question."

Saitou sighed, just a barely audible exhale, and lit another cigarette. "Tell me, Tenken," he began, taking a short drag. "You haven't got Tuberculosis, have you?"

Soujiro blinked. "Tuber… oh, lung-rot. Ah, well, n-no. I don't know where I would have gotten it, if I do. Why?"

Saitou took a long drag this time, holding the smoke in his mouth as long as he could before blowing it out as slowly as possible. "A man I knew once… a good friend… had it. He coughed a lot. And he spat out blood just like you did. He would try to hold it in, try to control it, but whenever he did that, he just made it worse... tried to hide it, told everyone he just couldn't get rid of his cold; that the dust in the air was getting to him… And when he began to cough, there was no way for him to stop. His quarters were next to mine. I could hear him every night, coughing and coughing…"

Saitou stopped. "My wife is giving birth right now, to our second child. I want to go home. I don't want to deal with you right now."

Soujiro continued to watch him, unsure of what to say. He had never seen the policeman so discomposed—granted, he had never seen him much at **all**, but he had always seemed so enviably put together…

"I'm going to make a deal with you," Saitou continued. "You go to Kyoto, and take my place on an assignment there. I'll give you all the details tomorrow. I will spread it around that you have Tuberculosis—though I doubt that you really do—and are no longer a threat to this country, since you will most likely die in a year or two."

Soujiro felt his eyes widen at this strange show of mercy. "And… that's it? What about Kozue-kun?"

He could practically hear the Wolf thinking. "They can take care of him at the dojo, I'm sure. Hn. Kami knows they have plenty of room." Saitou began walking past him now, towards the door. "As for you, I recommend that you see a doctor. Takani Megumi is, unbelievably enough, a very good one, and she's near the Kamiya girl's dojo. Meet me there tomorrow at noon. Ask around. People will know what you're talking about."

Soujiro smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Saitou-san. And," he paused, following Saitou through the door. "Congratulations."

The older man nodded and turned. "I believe that the boy is at the dojo now. That bleeding-heart Himura wouldn't trun him away. Go there, but stop at Takani's clinic on the way. I've sent her a message already."

And with that he began walking briskly down the street, in the direction that Soujiro could only assume meant home.

_So it's true. The Wolf of Mibu is tame after all. _

* * *

Basically the purpose of this chapter is to remind everyone of Soujiro's bad health and whatnot... and I finally got the plot moving a little! _cheers_

Also, many many thanks to Anithene for reading over this very late last night.

Review?


	5. Rest

If this is at all awkward anywhere, I'm sorry! I wanted to get it up as soon as I could, because... well, read the note at the bottom.  
Anyway, I didn't want to wait to get someone to read it over, so I just went ahead and posted it as soon as I finished it.  
I apologize in advance for typos, grammar and spelling errors, and other inaccuracies.

Enjoy!

* * *

"How could you have let yourself get so sick? You have a serious respiratory infection. It feels like your lungs are burning sometimes when you breathe, you said?"

He had been sitting on the examination table for half an hour, and the lady doctor continued to barrage him with question after question, prod him with various instruments, and put cold metal things on his back and on his chest. "Yes, sensei."

He was fairly certain that she had begun recycling her questions, clearly still unsure of her diagnosis. "I've just never seen anything like this before. It seems like just a regular infection, but… your symptoms are more like that of Tuberculosis… are you sure that you've never been exposed?"

No, he wasn't sure. He'd told her that two or three times already. "But, sensei, it comes and goes…" He winced as she placed her stethoscope on his back again and instructed him to breathe deep.

"Well, if it **were** Tuberculosis, it **would** be more consistent," she paused as her patient was overcome with a deep, rattling cough, "But I don't know what to do other than to just treat it as a bad cough. Hopefully, with a week or so of rest, your body will beat the infection on its own… you're young and in good enough shape."

Putting her tools away, she continued her instructions. "You need to start eating better, too. You're also suffering from some serious malnutrition. So, eat right, rest some… you should get better in time."

"Takani-sansei," the pretty physician turned back to him. "Saitou-san was planning to send me to Tokyo tomorrow, I think. I don't know if I'll have time to rest like you say."

Megumi crossed her arms. "Well, I suppose I'll just have a word with him about it. I absolutely cannot send you off in this condition—but where can you stay?"

"I'm out of money. We just checked out of our room at the inn this morning… we were planning on leaving today."

Megumi looked at the floor thoughtfully. "There's just no room at my house… I'd send you to the Rooster's place on Ruffian Row, but you probably wouldn't get much rest there, ne? I don't have anywhere else to send you but the dojo… That little boy is there now, isn't he? I'm sure Kaoru has room for one more."

* * *

"Megumi! No! What does this place look like, some kind of cheap motel! We're not running a poorhouse here, you know!"

Megumi looked around the empty yard. "Well… I mean, you've got plenty of room. And I'm sure Ken-san doesn't mind cooking for one more person?"

"Oh, no, not at all! I don't mind at all, that I don't."

"See, Kaoru? And look at this poor kid… you're not just going to throw him out in the streets are you? He's ill!"

Soujiro shifted uncomfortably, smiling sheepishly. He was mortified to be asking for a place to stay here… he'd just had a terrible quarrel with the man who would be feeding him, after all.

"Now, Seta-san. I've already gone around to Saitou's, since I had to check in on Tokio anyway—they had another boy, by the way—and he says that he'll take care of it. He told me to tell you to meet him tomorrow at the clinic anyway, but that you can stay and rest for another week."

"Oh, do send our regards to his wife! I would really love to **meet** this woman! A boy, you say?" At the mention of a baby, Kaoru had transformed into a genial hostess. Or gossip.

"Follow me, Soujiro-kun," Kenshin said, his ever-present soft smile in place.

Walking down the hall in tense silence, they could hear the two ladies gossiping at the gate. "It is the absolute cutest baby that I have ever seen, Kaoru! He has these little tufts of hair and the just the sweetest face! I'll tell you whenever Tokio brings him into the clinic, so that you can see him and meet her."

"What is she like? I'm so curious to know what sort of woman would marry Saitou!"

"Well, she's sort of quiet… very demure, you know, and she's quite pretty, in the more traditional way, and…"

The conversation drifted out of his range of hearing as he followed Kenshin further down through the hall and around a corner. He had to admit, he was a bit curious about the woman who seemed to have tamed the infamous Miburo, and half of him had wanted to stay and listen. But Yumi-san had always taught him to be a gracious guest and not eavesdrop, and so dutifully followed his host to the room.

"Here we are! Kozue-chan should be in there, and you'll be staying in the next room. Is that all right? I would've put you together, only Megumi-dono says that you're ill and I don't want Kozue-chan getting sick, so I decided to just put you next to each other... Yahiko-kun is down the hall and to the left, and Sanosuke-kun—whenever he comes around—is across from him… If you need anything, my room is to the right of Sano's, and Kaoru-dono's room is across from mine."

Soujiro couldn't help but smile at the older rurouni's nervous chatter, fully aware that he tended to do the same thing, at times. It startled him, how alike he and the older man were. There were a lot of differences, of course—Soujiro couldn't help but think that he'd probably had it much worse, because at least Himura's master hadn't been psychotic—but the similarities were so striking. He supposed that part of it was due largely to their backgrounds.

Orphans didn't have much of a choice but to follow whoever bothered to take them in.

Soujiro nodded politely at the redhead and thanked him. Kenshin bowed and turned and left, and Soujiro watched him disappear around the corner before knocking on Kozue's door.

"Hai?"

"It's me, Kozue-kun… may I come in?"

The door opened, and out stepped his young traveling companion. He was well-scrubbed and dressed in fresh clothing, and Soujiro vaguely noted that this was the first time he'd ever seen the boy clean, and that maybe he could use a bath as well. Realizing that he had yet to speak and that Kozue was watching him expectantly, he asked if everything was all right here. Kozue said that, yes, it was, and Himura-san is an excellent cook.

After a pause, Soujiro bade him goodnight, and turned into his own room. He sat on his futon and wondered why the conversation had been so stilted. He'd never really had trouble finding things to say, and Kozue certainly hadn't either.

* * *

"Hn. Well, you finally made it."

He smiled cheerily at the cop, who had returned to his previous level of composure. "I'm sorry, Saitou-san. Himura-san's breakfast was just so delicious I couldn't tear myself away!"

Saitou smirked and ground a cigarette out on the sole of his shoe. "That woman." He stuck another in his mouth, but didn't light it. "Well. You've been given a week off, it seems, to recover. During that week I want you to go through all of these," he shoved a few fat envelopes at Soujiro, "and figure out how you're going to do this. Most of the arrangements for your stay have been made already. Any information you'll need will be in those envelopes."

Soujiro stared down at the packets apprehensively. "Where will I be staying, Saitou-san?"

"I was set up to stay at the Aoiya. We've been using the Oniwabanshu to help us gather our information. Aoshi will go over any information that you don't already have with you when you arrive. I've already informed them of the change."

Soujiro wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or do now, so he uttered a meek thank you, turning the thick packets over in his hands warily. He watched as Saitou nodded brusquely and walked away, small puffs of dust coming up under his steps.

* * *

The Kamiya dojo, he found, was an excellent place to recuperate, despite the tension between him and the older, scarred warrior. Kozue was comfortable around him again, after Soujiro swore to him that no, he didn't have tuberculosis, so no, Kozue wasn't going to catch it and die. Yahiko wasn't there too often, Soujiro was told that he worked part-time at the Akabeko where he'd met him, and when he wasn't doing that, Kaoru kept him busy with training, cleaning, and errands.

Himura was an excellent cook, Soujiro had come to find, but his woman…

He preferred not to dwell too much on that.

Sanosuke had come to stay the night a few days ago, and had ended up staying for three nights. He was shocked to see Soujiro there, and even more shocked when he found that Kenshin hadn't been slaughtered in his sleep. He'd taken it all in stride, though, and very admirably. He even offered to let Soujiro pay for his food, but the offer was politely declined with a cheerful smile.

Soujiro himself was amazed to find that he hadn't done much at all but rest. Kaoru completely refused all his offers to let him help with chores, saying that he shouldn't be doing any sort of work at all, because Megumi-san would absolutely-without-a-doubt kill her if she heard that her patient was exerting himself in any way.

She put him on dish duty for the duration of his stay.

He didn't mind, he felt quite useless and rude just sitting around all day. He had nothing to do until his next meeting with Saitou but look over the information in those envelopes, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

**To go back to Kyoto… **

He wasn't really sure that he could.

How could he face that city, when he couldn't even face himself most days?

* * *

So, I started school today.  
Let me begin by saying that I've never had to work at school... ever. I've always been smart enough to skate through my classes without putting out any or much effort, and it didn't matter, because I made low A's and high B's.  
The AP classes I signed up for this year are going to be murderous, I'm told. The two that I took last year were supposedly hard, but I didn't have any trouble with them... so hopefully that will be the case this year, as well.  
But if not, just know in advance that I'm very very very sorry, but I won't be able to update very often, because I won't have much time for writing...

That being said, I hope you're all still enjoying this! I know the past two chapters have been considerably lighter than the others, but it will probably get dramatic again in either the next chapter or the one after that.

Now, who wants to review?  
You do. Right?


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